Home
by seven years
Summary: HBP SPOILERS. Harry Potter knows that the journey home must be made alone. Chapter one: Harry, Ron and Hermione spend their last Christmas together. Ginny and Malfoy spend their first Christmas alone. Mentions HG, but mostly DG.


** Warnings: **HBP SPOILERS. Do not reat if you have not finished reading the 6th book.  
**Note: **Well, no. I haven't completely given up on my other fic, but whatever. I wanted desperately to start a post-HBP fic, so here it is. This is not a one-shot, though each chapter will be broken up into fragments.

**Home**

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_Chapter 1: December _

**1. **

The sound of wood gently crackling in an old and dusty fireplace—it was quite possibly the music of heaven as far as Hermione Granger was concerned.

"Ron, put that down!" she said with a small laugh. "You'll spoil your appetite." Ron too could not find the heart to retort. Instead, he grinned sheepishly and placed the slice of wobbly pie back on the platter. From across the room, Harry frowned slightly.

"What's wrong with you two?" he asked suspiciously. Hermione looked surprised.

"What do you mean?" He cracked a smile.

"You guys haven't argued the whole evening. Something up?"

Hermione chuckled as she slipped on the oven mitt.

"Don't be silly, Harry," she said. "It's Christmas Eve."

**2.**

It was snowing outside of Hogwarts, but everyone was too busy feeling awkward to notice the usual beauty of it. Minerva McGonagall especially sat rigidly in the chair that he would have, at the end of the table. The knowledge escaped no one. Certainly not Draco Malfoy. A mere five students had remained over the holidays. They ate in expected silence.

Minerva wondered a lot of things during the long dinner. Mostly she wondered why she was doing this--why she was keeping up appearances. Albus would have wanted this. _'Who cares?'_ she thought bitterly, for a moment. He wasn't here now. He would never be again. With a sigh, she finally gazed up at the snowy winter sky. The stars were clouded tonight.

It was another Eve. Another year gone by. And some things just were not going to be the same again. But she needed, with every fiber of her being, to believe that extraordinary things were still possible.

**3. **

"No one expected you to return," said Ginny casually. She was too tired and her feet were too cold. Draco regarded her with unsurprised eyes over his mug of cocoa.

"No one expected Hogwarts to return," he replied with a shrug. "But here we are. And here it is."

Ginny blinked. "Yes. Strange how things work, isn't it?"

"I should go," he said abruptly. "I didn't even know you'd be here." He made an attempt to stand. Ginny pushed him back down almost angrily.

"Don't be a stupid ponce, Malfoy. This kitchen is as much yours as it is mine."

He was silent for a moment, before admitting, "I want to be alone."

Ginny looked to her lap. A rush of feeling coursed through her then.

"I know." And bitterly: "Don't we all?" Malfoy said nothing.

"You may not agree, but I don't think we're so different after all," Ginny continued brashly. Her voice was quivering a little, as if she might be on the verge of tears. She jerkily held out a hand, as if to quell anything that might come out of Draco's mouth. But the truth was that he couldn't have found the courage to speak, even if he did know what to say. "Don't think I don't know what's happened. Maybe you have a dark mark, and maybe you've done some nasty things--but you know what? Underneath all of that, I still pity you. And you can't stop me, can you? You were thrown into this, Malfoy, and I wouldn't have wished that on anyone. And now you've come back, haven't you? You've come back because you thought you'd give hiding a chance. Because you were scared that if you stayed there, you would either be killed, or land yourself in Azkaban for murder. You've lost people you love, and so have I. So you can stop pretending like you're the only person in this world."

Draco surveyed the small redhead in front of him. And then a tiny warmth started to spread through him, starting from his feet.

"Okay."

Somehow, things were right after she said that. It would have been odd and flustering in itself to know that she felt comfortable in a Malfoy's presence had it been any other night, but it was Christmas Eve. It was not an excuse, but an explanation. Weird things happened on nights like these. It was almost tradition.

Her heart felt fuller but lighter. For the first time in a long time, Malfoy smiled. Their cocoa seemed bottomless, and the fire never died.

It wouldn't be like this at The Burrow, Ginny knew. In the old days, it was always so very happy and loud. Not that she wasn't happy now. But this was a different sort of happy. A tangy happiness that was mixed in with other things—like melancholy, and heartache. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were always running around doing something or another for the Order, anyway. But here. Here in a messy but cozy kitchen of Hogwarts castle, alone with Draco Malfoy, it was slightly lonely and slightly warm and slightly perfect. She smiled.

**4.**

It was the best dinner they had had in a very long time. They were not very well to do, having to move frequently from place to place. They never had much time to settle. Money was not in abundance. Not that they needed much. But they had managed to return to Godric's Hollow for this important occasion. Ron, who had always been used to a happy and bustling Christmas (he was a Weasley), would not hear of spending it on the road.

"It has to be done properly," he had said. He had gotten what he wanted.

Now, he let out a long burp as he rubbed his bulging stomach. Hermione gently slapped his arm in reprimand.

"Cor, Hermione, think you could give my mother a run for her money," Ron said jubilantly, lazily sitting by the fire. Harry chortled in agreement.

"You're just saying that," she said modestly, but she didn't bother hiding the slight smugness on her face. She felt responsible for the both of them now. To be able to take care of them was one of her only joys in everyday life. She squeezed in next to Ron by the fire. Harry picked up his plate to place it in the sink, his eyes never leaving the image of his two best friends sitting side by side. Unexpectedly, he felt something almost like heartbreak then. He was surprised to feel such yearning moroseness in the midst of a moment so joyful--but then again perhaps it was not so out of place. To know such depth of friendship was devastating, after all. Their faces were illuminated by the orange light, and now Harry could clearly see the irremovable grime and weariness that was etched into every feature of their faces. All for him. All for Harry Potter. He had brought this to them. His own weakness, his inability, or perhaps his very, very subconscious unwillingness to be completely alone, had caused them to suffer. His knees felt weak.

"Harry," Ron complained, breaking his train of despondent thoughts. "Hurry up, will you? The fire's dying."

Grinning just as quickly as he had frowned, Harry stalked over to his friends and plopped down, propping his weight up against his arms.

"So, what?" Harry asked. "Was this evening good enough for you, Mr. Weasley?"

"The best," Ron replied honestly, his blue eyes clear and twinkling. Hermione clapped her hands together and let out an excited little squeak before jumping up to her feet.

"Almost forgot," she said breathlessly, and then scurried into the other room as if she her feet were on fire. Ron and Harry exchanged looks. A moment later, Hermione came stumbling back with what looked like—

"A record player!" she exclaimed, poking her head above the bulky machine. "It must have been your mother's, Harry."

"A what player?" Ron asked, quirking his eyebrows.

"A record player," Harry replied with a grin. "It plays music."

"Cool!" Ron's eyes lit up immediately. He hastily stood up to help Hermione. After a socket had been found ('Ah, plugs, now I know what i those /i are') Hermione revealed a set of vinyl Christmas records.

"Wonderful," said Harry, rifling through them and recognizing some songs. He felt warm and sated, watching Ron and Hermione bumble around trying to get it to work. Well, watching Hermione getting it to work, and Ron being a simple nuisance. Even the sound of their idle arguing was comforting. This moment—all these moments—he never wanted to lose them. He didn't even want to let them fade. Another pang of soft sadness hit him, because he knew such things were impossible. All things passed.

"There," Hermione cried triumphantly. After a moment of crackling, the record began to play a carol. Ron began reading the back of the record case.

"They don't have _The Most Magical Time Of The Year_?" Ron asked with a hint of a pout.

"No," Hermione said patiently. "These are muggle songs, Ron. You probably don't know any of them."

"Right," he said disappointedly. "Well, no matter. See, I can probably sing along to this one! Have yourself a merry little Christmas indeed," he said with a self-assured nod.

The both of them reclaimed their seats next to Harry by the fire, sitting in silence as they listened to the soft crooning voices fill the small room.

"This is beautiful," said Hermione suddenly, her voice heavy with sentimentality. Ron looked on with horror.

"You're not going to cry on us, are you?" he asked with a frown. Hermione huffed up.

"Well—oh, I love you both." She gave up defending herself and sobbed suddenly, crushing both boys into a Hagrid-esque hug. Ron, for once however, did not simply pat her awkwardly on the back, but returned the hug. Harry's perpetual grin (or so it seemed) widened even more, until all three of them burst out into laughter.

"You know—" Harry said abruptly. "Well, I just want to…I just want to say thanks, guys." Hermione stared at him curiously. For some reason, the expression made Harry flush in embarrassment.

"For _what_?" she asked incredulously. Harry looked at her, feeling a lump growing in his throat.

"For—being here," he said awkwardly. He turned his gaze to the fire. "You didn't have to be, you could have just left me alone—you should have just left me alone…and you didn't." He glanced at Ron, then at Hermione. "I'm thanking the both of you for being such idiots." In truth, he was thanking them for all the little things. Harry knew well enough to put value in the small gifts; these small fragments of life—they were what mattered most. The fact that Hermione had cooked them all a lovely Christmas dinner. The fact that Ron had chosen to spend his favorite holiday in a decrepit old house. These were the things happiness was made out of.

Ron looked utterly serious, however, as he clapped Harry on the back.

"You offend us, Harry," he said. "What did you expect? We're your best friends. There's no other way it could have been, you stupid git."

Harry nodded, unable to speak until the damned lump subsided. "Yea, well. Still. Thanks." Hermione's gentle hand touched his.

"You must know. There are people out there who love you," she said. "We love you. So…utterly." She let out a nervous laugh. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yea. I know," Harry said quietly. It was clearer now than ever.

"Well, if you're done being saps now, I'd like to lisen to the music," Ron said loudly. He lay down on the carpet, resting his head on his arms, and Harry and Hermione followed suit.

The three of them remained this way, their bodies gently outlined by the firelight, until the smell of pine, apple pie, candy canes and the sound of the jingling carols all faded away to the night, and into morning.

**5.**

When they awoke Harry was, of course, gone.


End file.
